Things You Said After You Kissed Me
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Poor Orsino has to put up with hearing all these wild rumors about Hawke and neither of them wants to admit this is becoming more than a casual escape.


The Champion was hurt. Orsino had heard it from a mage in the dining hall, who had heard it from a Templar in the Gallows, who had heard it from the guard-captain, who had been very tired at work that morning. By the time Yvonne was sharing the story to her friends over the breakfast table, it had swelled into something of nearly epic proportions, as tales of the Champion tended to do (Orsino had been asked some months ago by a Senior Enchanter from Redcliffe if it was true the Champion had slain three dragons in Darktown on her way to smash a slaving ring).

"I heard that Evitts ripped her right in half!" exclaimed Pratik.

"No, no, no, it was a stab wound," Yvonne insisted. "Went all the way through her! It's a true story, Marcus told me himself."

"Yeah, no one's ever fooled _you_ with a lie, Yvonne," said Catherine, rolling her eyes as she picked up her goblet. "And Templars always tell the truth."

Some of the Senior Enchanters wanted to shut down gossip amongst the mages. They claimed it was a sin, or a distraction, or simply that mages had better things to spend their time on than swapping increasingly outrageous tales about fellow mages or other Kirkwallians. Orsino had always taken the stance that while it could be inane and a waste of time, it was ultimately harmless. If it was one small thing that kept the mages from being bored to death in the Circle, could he really argue against it? Anything particularly malicious he would put a stop to, but most of it was just the fantastical imaginings of young adults who wished to be out in the world. Listening to them talk so casually about Hawke being ripped to pieces made him reconsider.

"Oh, shut up, Cathy," Yvonne said. "You never know anything. Marcus says she got stabbed right through, and she got dragged down to Darktown because she doesn't trust any of the doctors up in Hightown."

"Why would the Champion want to be treated in Darktown?" Pratik asked with a frown. "They'll kill you as soon as look at you down there. She's got a fortune now, surely she can afford the best."

"Who knows? The Champion isn't like the rest of us," Yvonne said.

"She's still a _person_, Von," Catherine said. "And don't call me Cathy."

"I'm sure the Champion would appreciate fewer tales of her imagined dismemberment," Orsino interrupted, stopped by their table.

"First Enchanter!" All three of them looked up, guilt stamped across their faces. Orsino had long grown used to the way younger mages and enchanters reacted to being addressed by the First Enchanter, but he had been hearing his title from Hawke's teasing lips enough that the students' expressions reminded him the title did carry weight still.

"Incredible though, isn't she?" Pratik said. "Whatever happened, I'm sure she'll be back on her feet in no time!"

"Let us hope that is true," Orsino intoned. "And until we have any concrete evidence that misfortune has befallen her, perhaps we ought to leave off speculating."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Yvonne said, lowering her head.

He went on his way to sit with the Senior Enchanters and eat, trying to put the idle gossip from his mind. Tales of Hawke's exploits abounded all around Kirkwall and spread through the Free Marches—it was just as likely nothing had happened at all, and someone had merely made up a story for the attention. The Champion did not put overmuch effort into countering rumor—she claimed stopping them was akin to trying to dispense of a bedbug infestation. Best not get involved, though if asked, she would deny them. Sometimes.

The idea of the Champion bleeding out in some Darktown hovel, presided over by maniacs with sawblades and rusty clamps was not one Orsino could manage with a steady stomach. Stories about the Champion were much exaggerated, but Hawke was also known for some truly _boneheaded_ ideas, and it was not too much a stretch of the imagination to picture her deciding some Darktown wacko was her best choice for medical aid. However, he considered it was more likely she had gone there to see her friend Anders. She had never _said_ he was an apostate, but she had made a few comments that led Orsino's mind, and he had heard about apostates in Darktown. Dismissing it all as overly imaginative fiction meant he could brush Meredith off about it.

"Did you hear about the Champion?" Asha asked as he picked over his eggs.

"Hear what?" Orsino asked, turning to her. "Every time I turn a corner I hear something about the Champion. Ever since she was named her every move has been the talk of the city."

"Well Draughn told me she smashed Evitts' Marauders single-handed and walked back to Kirkwall so cut up she was holding things in place with her bare hands," Asha said.

"I doubt she would have made it that far with those injuries," Orsino said. And yet—it was not _wholly_ outside the realm of possibility where Hawke was concerned. Maker, what if she _had_ spilled her guts in the fight with Evitts?

"Oh, I'm sure it's a tall tale," Asha said. "But I wonder what really happened? Remember when she drove the Silent Sisters out of Hightown?"

"Are you talking about the Champion?" Wei leaned over from Asha's other side, his dark eyes alight with interest. "I remember the Silent Sisters! It used to be you couldn't walk half a block through Hightown at night without them all over you. I heard the Champion seduced their leader and convinced her to join the chantry."

Orsino took a breath to tell him that was ludicrous, when he lapsed into wondering if it was true.

"This is exactly why we need to get out more," Asha said. "They barely talk of anything else anymore. Josiah swears he saw the Champion sneaking out through the loading docks two weeks ago." Orsino nearly choked on his wine. Asha's nosy apprentice—_naturally _he was talking.

"That's preposterous," he said. "What on Earth could the Champion want in the Circle?" Asha shrugged.

"I sent him to help clean the kitchens and told him to stop spreading rumors," she said. "But can you blame them? They're bored, Orsino. They have nothing to do and nothing interesting on the horizon. Combine that with the Templars breathing down everyone's necks and it's no wonder they'd rather take refuge in outrageous stories than focus on their duties."

Orsino sighed and set his fork down, appetite much diminished.

"Let them talk, then," he said. "They're not causing any harm." The tales of Hawke's manifold imagined accomplishments were generally entertaining—sometimes, he even regaled her with the most far-fetched rumors he had heard. It was just the stories of her brutal injuries that posed a problem. The Champion said he worried too much—that he had become a fussy old man in his age. Perhaps she was right.

Communicating with the Champion was no simple task—he saw her irregularly, and both were wary of passing too many messages back and forth. There were appearances, after all. It wasn't a problem—the Champion's business was her own, and Orsino would do better to focus his mind on his work, and not whether or not the Champion was mortally wounded in a sewer tunnel somewhere in the undercity.

When she did arrive back in his office in the Gallows, the relief that swept over him threw into instant and harsh relief the anxiety that had been humming just beneath the surface for several days. He half-rose from his seat as she came in, freezing as she flashed a limp version of her devil-may-care smile. The dash of red warpaint across her nose was crooked, and a purpling bruise the size of a human fist decorated the left side of her jaw.

"Long time no see, First Enchanter." Slowly, he took his seat again and scanned her up and down. With first few steps into his office he could see she moved more delicately, more stiffly than usual, like an animal protecting an injury. How true were the rumors?

"I hear you've been having adventures, Champion," he said, but the intended playfully scolding tone fell flat. He was busy trying to pinpoint Hawke's injury.

"Always," she said. "Life is so dull, otherwise." She eased herself down into one of the chairs in front of his desk, unable to hide the way she winced as she let her weight fall into the seat. "But here I am."

"Is it true you took down Evitts and the rest of his marauders?" Orsino could not stop himself from asking. Hawke grinned her sharp smile, her eyes flashing, and something in Orsino shivered.

"Sure did," she said. "Jeven always said Evitts would be a thorn in my ass someday; looks like he was right about that. They won't be bothering anyone anymore. Should make traveling along the coast a bit less dangerous. A bit—there are a couple more Tal-Vashoth enclaves we need to clear out still."

"Do you want a drink?" he asked, starting to rise from his seat again.

"No." The Champion shook her head. "No, I'm fine." She shifted around in the chair, leaning first to one side, then the other. "What's been going on in the Circle lately?"

"Nothing of interest, I'm sure," Orsino said, taking his seat again and scanning the papers before him without reading anything. "The usual—the Knight-Commander trying to strangle us, and the enchanters doing their best to fend her off."

"I want to hear," she insisted. "I'm not the only one with adventures, right?" She smiled.

"My adventure are of a far more futile nature, I'm afraid," Orsino said, his mouth set in a thin line.

"I hear Meredith has released you from confinement," she nudged him.

"For the time being," Orsino said, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I am sure she will search for any excuse to re-implement it. It is only for now that she has run out of excuses to keep me shut up here. For my own safety, she insisted this time," he said with a mocking tone. Meredith seemed so sure the populace of Kirkwall would just tear him to pieces if he were allowed out—he pointed out that spoke poorly of her Templars, if they could not keep the mages of the city safe.

The Champion laughed a little, but quickly cut it off, flinching and hunching over.

"She's got some temper, doesn't she?" Hawke let out a shaky breath and looked up, perhaps realizing he did not find his bickering with the Knight-Commander quite as entertaining as Hawke did. "If you're allowed out now, you should let me buy you a drink," she said, trying to draw him in with the twinkle in her eyes.

"I hardly think you're in a state to go anywhere, Champion," Orsino said, his irritation with Meredith pushed to the wayside. "I heard some terrible tales about your injuries. It seems they weren't all wrong."

"Oh, it's nothing," the Champion said, waving her hand. "I've had worse."

"That is not a comfort, Champion."

"Do you need comfort, First Enchanter?" she asked.

"I need you to stop being so reckless," he told her, giving her a look down the bridge of his nose that he had once used against slacking or disobedient mages under his tutelage.

"Me, reckless? Who's reckless? I'm careful as can be! Look at me, sitting here all in one piece," the Champion boasted.

"That seems questionable," he replied. The Champion responded by standing up out of her seat, as gingerly as an octogenarian, then giving Orsino a triumphant look. "Was that meant to be reassuring, Champion?"

"I'm right as rain," she insisted.

"How did you even make it over here?" he asked, getting up.

"Isabela gave me a ride," she said. He went around the desk to look her over more closely.

"Hawke, please tell me you saw a real healer," he said seriously, lifting his gaze to hers.

"Of course," she said. "I went to a clinic and had it all taken care of."

"Did you go down to Darktown for this?"

"Boy, I thought you stayed away from gossip, First Enchanter!" Orsino ceased the thankless task of trying to get answers from Serrah Hawke, and instead unlaced her jerkin. "If I had known you were this eager to strip my clothes off, First Enchanter, I would have come sooner," she said. Orsino did not respond, but grasped the hem of her tunic and lifted it up. Hawke barely fought him before he exposed the gruesome wound on her gut. His eyes widened, despite himself, and he snapped his gaze up to hers again. "See, all stitched up," she said weakly.

The wound had indeed been stitched—and by magic too. But not by someone formally trained as a healer—more likely a well-intentioned mage making do with unrelated training and piecemeal learning. The flesh around it was a furious red and hot to the touch. Orsino himself was no healer, but he knew a few tricks, and that would have to suffice—he knew the Champion would refuse any suggestion that she go see some of his healers.

The Champion always seemed indestructible, like nothing ever stuck to her. To see her this way grabbed the basis of Orsino's understanding of her and gave it a wrathful shake. She was human, he knew, but to be reminded of it this way was something else. He got down onto his knees and examined the wound more closely before touching his lips feather-light against the angry skin around it. He focused the healing magics he did know into soothing the Champion's pain as he placed a few more delicate kisses against her abdomen. Above, she let out a trembling breath as the pain lessened.

"Wow," she whispered. "That's a good trick, First Enchanter." Orsio looked up at her and managed there what his words had not—the Champion glanced away, sheepish. "I didn't realize the rumors in here were so bad," she said without prompting.

"It's impossible to parse the truth from them," Orsino said. "But one tries anyway." He straightened, ignoring the Champion's hand. She met his eyes and he waited for another snarky quip, but it did not come.

"Thanks for that," she said at last.

"My pleasure, Champion. You should not have come here," he advised her. "You should be resting."

"What, are you sending me home?" He hadn't meant to imply that—her trip would be the same if she left then or four hours from then—but the kicked puppy look that she gave him made it worth the implication. He couldn't hold back a quiet laugh.

"No, not yet," he said. "But I would still implore you to take more care with your personal safety," he said in a somber tone. "The people's hero of Kirkwall will not be much use to them impaled on a Tal-Vashoth spear." She shrugged.

"There are things that need to be done, First Enchanter. I get them done."

"At what cost to yourself?" Another shrug.

"Doesn't really matter, does it? Someone has to pay the price. It might as well be me." She played with the strings of her jerkin as she tied it up again. "I do apologize for any concern, First Enchanter," she said, sliding back towards the tone she used to play their game, and avoid speaking truthfully. "I would never want to add to your considerable stack of worries."

"What's one more now?" Orsio asked, picking through a stack of papers on his desk.

"So you did worry for me, then?" He looked back over at the smug Champion with a dry expression.

"There are plenty of other places you can go to stroke your ego, Champion," he said.

"But I came here," she said.

"So you did." There was silence again. Orsino could not remember so many silences between them in earlier times. He went on to ask, "Why did you?" at the same time the Champion offered to go and let him get back to work.

"Just like I said," she replied with a smile. "To hear about what you've been up to!"

"Surely it is not so interesting as to bring you all the way here," he said.

"First Enchanter, surely you know I am riveted by your every word!" She was gripping the back of the chair now, and would need to sit soon. Orsino studied her face for traces of truth or evidence of lies.

"I can't read you for the life of me, Hawke," he said at last, shaking his head. "Sit down, before you tear apart that stitching. It's delicate." As she let go of the chair, he quickly moved to grip her arm and ease her down into the chair.

"You fuss more than Varric!" she exclaimed, but she allowed him to help her. When he drew away, she caught his hand and held onto it for a moment, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in her eyes. "Tell me, about the Circle," she implored softly. "Perhaps I can help. Is there news about the Knight-Commander?"

Orsino looked down at her and recalled the many afternoons she had spent discussing various aspects of magic, and the Circle, and Kirkwall's history with him before she had suggested she wanted anything more from their acquaintance. When she took that dive, he assumed all those conversations had merely been prelude to what she really wanted. But perhaps it was not so simple—nothing with the Champion ever seemed to be.

"You should really be getting rest," he told her. She released his hand and after a pause, he began to move back to his seat behind the desk.

"I am resting," she said. "Go on. Tell me the boring things too. I like listening to you talk." There was no teasing or amusement in her face. How could he do anything but comply?


End file.
